In a Mad World
by Exilo
Summary: A story set in Halo 2 that does not include Master Cheif or the Arbiter, or Halfjaw or Johnson or any major guys. Instead, the story will follow low level soldiers and how the events seen in the game would affect them.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello everyone. P.M. Wolf here, formerly Comrade Wolf. This is a short story, set about the same time as Halo 2. I don't want to give too much away, but i hope you you like it. Reviews are always welcome._

_Chapter 1_

There were days that Kurr absolutely hated his life, and this was one of them. It had all started a cycle ago. Kurr was once been one of dozens of Unggoy who served under Spec Ops Commander Zardok Zulfar, a strong and capable Sangheili. Now he was one of the last.

This could all be blamed on that damn Demon, that human monster in the green armor, who had slaughtered countless Covenant, destroyed a scared ring, and escaped unscathed. That very Demon who had assassinated the Prophet of Mercy, beat the hierarch to death with the butt of a pistol.

It was all his fault. He probably did not even realize the extent of what he had done. He had not just killed a Prophet after all, which in and of itself was an almost unspeakable crime. That Demon had forsaken the Sangheili.

Kurr had done what he could to stay out of the affairs of the Sangheili and Jiralhanae, the constant bickering between the two dominating species. Lacking any form of power, politically or physically, every Unggoy learned early to keep his head low, lest it be removed at the shoulders. Ironic how the one time he didn't follow this practice may indeed be his last.

Zulfar and his team were fighting the good fight on Kali, a planet marked as one of humanity's satellites. For some strange reason, the hierarchs were reluctant to simply glass the damn world, so he and his men were charged with eradicating the humans.

Zulfar was infuriated. The small planet Earth had at last been marked as the home planet of the wretched humans. That is where he wanted to be, on the front lines, fighting in the name of the Covenant, but he accepted his orders from the hierarchs bitterly. Unfortunately, that seemingly simple order was much more difficult to carry out than any would have guessed. The humans, for their second-rate technology and inferior numbers, proved to have a great amount of fight in them. They engaged the Covenant forces in a series of swift and brilliant raids. From out of jungles, they would crawl, in the line of sight just long enough to attack. Then back into the shadows, safe from retaliation. It was enough to reduce the Covenant to their knees.

One day, one like all the others: long, boring, nerve racking; there came a strange order over the radio, a direct broadcast from High Charity. The High Prophet of Truth was speaking. He used words like heresy and corruption. He spoke of how the Sangheili had betrayed the sacred ideals, that their demise was the will of the Forerunners. And Kurr remembered wondering what he could mean. The Sangheili had been the guardians of the Covenant for as long as any could remember, it was their truce with the Prophets that allowed the great society to be formed. Surely, the Prophet of Truth was mistaken in his belief that the Sangheili had betrayed the Covenant's ideas. Then came the fighting. It was unclear who shot first: the Sangheili or the Jiralhanea. Each was engaged in a desperate bid to slay the other.

Kurr could have kept his head down, as he always did. It would have been easy. When he spied Commander Zulfar, surrounded by three of the Jiralhanea and about to be killed, he could have simply turned his back, closed his eyes, and covered his ears. Instead, he lifted his Needler and fired at one of the furred leviathans. And he did damage. As much damage as a mosquito does to a giant. The Jiralhanea he had shot turned to the Unggoy, amused at the vain attack.

The Jiralhanea were stupid creatures. Their attention was quickly diverted from the dieing Sangheili to the cowering Unggoy. This proved their fatal error. With some new breathe of life; Commander Zulfar reached his energy sword. He slew two of the enemies quickly, drove the blade through their backsides and spun to lop off their head with graceful swipes. The third turned just in time to see the weapon thrust through his gut.

All across the base, the battle continued, the sounds of war was deafening. That day, the Sangheili fought well, but the Jiralhanea were too numerous. In the end, Commander Zulfar was forced to flee.

This brought Kurr to his current situation, following Commander Zulfar through the hot steamy jungles of the planet Kali, the pits of the Unggoy's stomach roaring with hunger and his feet ached.

"Why did you save me?" asked the commander. He was carrying a female Sangheili warrior over his shoulder, but he didn't seem bothered by the added weight.

"Excuse sir?" asked Kurr humbly. All Unggoy were forced to wear breathing masks, so his voice was more than slightly muffled and distorted.

"Those Jiralhanea had me dead to rights, why did you risk your life to save me?"

"You did same for me, sir," Kurr said, embarrassed. "I've served under you a long time, sir. A few cycles ago, humans had captured other Unggoy and me. We'd have been executed if you hadn't freed us, sir. No other commander would have done that. Other commander would have let us die."

"Yes," the Sangheili remarked with a bitter chuckle. "Most count you as nothing more than cannon fodder, a disgusting practice of the Covenant to waste so many lives."

Another time, before this, such a remark would have marked the speaker as a heretic. It was still Kurr's duty to shoot heretics. He looked down at Needler he clutched.

"What should we do sir?" the Unggoy asked.

"Well, the Jiralhanea will send out search parties to take out any survivors. I think avoiding said parties is a good idea."

"Yes sir."

"What is your name?"

"Kurr, sir."

Commander Zulfar gave an examining stare. "You don't have to call me sir. I do not think my rank applies anymore. We're all traders now."


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

"We should make camp or our friend here won't last long," said Commander Zulfar.

"But sir," started Kurr, but he quickly caught himself. Unggoy had no power with in the Covenant. Defiance of a superior officer meant a quick and brutal death. And yet the commander didn't quickly slay his subordinate. In fact, he seemed curious. Kurr was risking his life with what he said next. "The Jiralhanae still look for us, sir. Are you sure it wise to stop?"

"Normally, I would say to keep moving. But the sub-commander is badly hurt. She took the shot almost dead on. She needs to get warm or she'll die within the cycle."

"Yes sir," Kurr swallowed.

"Do you disagree with my order?" the commander asked.

"Of-course not sir," Kurr gasped. "I never dare question you. Never dare."

"You're shaking," Zulfar noted. "Calm down. I won't hurt you. Do you disagree with my order?"

A perplexing dilemma lay before the frightened Unggoy. It was forbidden to lie to a superior, such a crime could was punishable by death. Yet, he couldn't say that he disagreed with the Sangheili, for even a defying thought was punishable with execution.

"If you disagree with my order, that's fine. It is terrible how you are treated in the Covenant. Any soldier who is brave enough to die for our ideas, to go charging forth into battle against the humans, deserves their own opinion. So you think it is foolish to make camp, you are right. But I will not allow another of my soldiers to die. Leave if you so desire."

"No sir, I will stay," Kurr said.

"Then stay with her," Zulfar said, gesturing to the unconscious Sangheili.

"What will you do sir?"

"She's going into shock form the loss of blood. I was able to plug up the wound, but she needs to get warm. Some fire wood should help."

The Spec Ops Commander was…Kurr searched a while for the word, finally settling on unique. He was a veteran soldier, so his skill on the battle field was undisputed. And despite a sometimes unorthodox demeanor, he was a vicious fighter. Perhaps it was part of his plan, Kurr decided. The Unggoy with out a doubt felt comfortable around the commander, more so than with anyone else, even his fellow Unggoy. The commander just had that effect, he could lure even the toughest into a sense of familiarity and security.

Commander Zulfar disappeared into the trees, and Kurr was left alone with the woman. Her name was Sindal Shara, the Unggoy remembered, one of the higher-ranking Sangheili at the base, approximately one level beneath Commander Zulfar. During the battle with the Jiralhanae, Kurr and the commander had stumbled onto the female, unconscious and on the brink of death due to a close range blast of the Jiralhanae's Brute Shot. Commander Zulfar had valiantly saved her, but it seemed doubtful she'd last the night.

Kurr chewed at the mouth of his breathing mask as he looked over the female form. With the extensive body armor all Sangheili wore, it was difficult to tell her gender from afar, but now the subtle curve of her hips and extension of her chest was visible.

Generally, females were kept out of combat positions in the Covenant. With in the Sangheili cultures, sharp lines were drawn based on gender. For a woman to reach the rank of sub-commander, she would have to prove herself as an amazing fighter, a brilliant tactician, and a cold murderer. And now she was here, helpless, after the violent betrayal of the Jiralhanae.

Kurr poked at the Sangheili's armor breastplate carefully. Nothing happened, save the clanging noise as claw collided with metal shell.

Kurr poked again, and again only the clanging noise. The third time, his nail touched a spot of her bare skin. Sub-commander Shara's hand suddenly lashed out, her fingers wrapped around the Unggoy's neck. Kurr was forced to the ground, the steely touch intent on choking the life from him. By instinct, he lifted his Needler and prepared to fire.

A reflex, he realized when he saw the Sangheili's eyes were still gently closed. He dropped his Needler and instead worked to pry the grip on his throat loose. When he finally succeeded, he crawled away from the woman, and decided he would wait for Commander Zulfar to return.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

"This way," roared a deep booming voice that echoed through the jungle trees and made Kurr nearly soil his armor. By the Forerunners, he recognized that horrible voice, that deep throated bellow.

He looked around at the trees, each shadow took the form of those horrible Jiralhanae, each thud and reverberation toyed with his fears.

Kurr rushed to the female Sangheili, stood over her and took her by the shoulders. "Wake up," he begged. "I can't fight. Please, by the Forerunners wake up." But the Sangheili woman just lay there, the only movement that of her chest as she breathed.

The Unggoy grabbed the Sangheili by the ankles and pulled with all his might. At first she didn't budge, but with a great deal of effort, he at last managed to drag her into thicker underbrush. He crouched alongside her, holding his Needler in front of him, though he knew it would have almost no effect on a Jiralhanae, let alone a group of them.

The Unggoy didn't dare breath, for fear even the slightest of sounds would notify the Jiralhanae of his presence. Death would not be quick if he discovered. The Jiralhanae would take great pleasure in a slow, agonizing demise. And what would await the sleeping Sangheili, Kurr did not want to think of it.

When this undying hatred between the two species had emerged, Kurr could not say. Like everything else, the Unggoy weren't privileged to much information on the inner workings of the Covenant. By watching the human's propaganda, Kurr had learned they believed the tension between the Jiralhanae and Sangheili was a sign of the Covenant's inevitable implosion. Soon, the entire alien society would crumble. Stupid humans.

Kurr didn't believe that. He, who had served beneath both Jiralhanae and Sangheili, knew that there was something deeper. The anger, the hatred, went far beyond simple power struggles and thirst for supremacy. It was some sort of primal fury. Perhaps even the Sangheili and Jiralhanae didn't know why they hated each other so.

Behind him, the female commander began to stir, mumble incoherently in her slumber. Kurr forced her mouth to stay closed, clamped her mandible together so no words could escape. "Be quiet. By the Forerunners, please be quiet."

Kurr stayed crouched in the underbrush as the trees parted to compensate the vast form of a Jiralhanae. It shuffled into Kurr's vision, dragging a huge Brute Shot behind him, took a sniff of the air, then looked about.

"I'm sure I smelled something," the Jiralhanae said aloud. There were at least two, Kurr assumed, or this one was talking to no one.

Soon, a second voice confirmed his fears. "We haven't time for this. There are no Sangheili here. We need to find the survivors or SuKahn will have _our_ head."

SuKahn! Oh this was bad. Of all the Jiralhanae, the one called SuKahn was truly the most fearsome. Stories of his deed against the humans were a source of both disgust and fear within the Covenant.

If Commander Zulfar was the embodiment of a good leader: honorable, brave, and devoted to his men, SuKahn was the antipode. A ruthless brute of a warrior, the Jiralhanae had no value for life, whether it be that of the enemy or ally. He won battles, not through strategy or guile, but rather by throwing wave after wave of his soldiers at the objective. And the Prophets didn't care of course. They wanted results. They wanted the objective accomplished. What did it matter if a few hundred Unggoy died along the way? They cared about results.

Paralysis swept through Kurr as the two Jiralhanae moved within spitting distance. If not for his methane breathing mask, the Unggoy was sure he would smell them: the odor of blood and grime that clung to fur rarely washed.

Tales of SuKahn's acts were numerous. It was said (in whispers of course) that after a victory over the humans, SuKahn and his Jiralhanae saw to the important acts of pillaging. Kurr didn't know when the Jiralhanae had acquired a taste for humans, nor could he understand why the Prophets allowed it. Results, he supposed.

During the acts of pillaging, a group of children was discovered, hidden away from the battle by the late human soldiers. It was customary for the Covenant to execute such prisoners: quickly and without pain. It was the only law of war after all. But SuKahn took his time with the children. He and his men tortured the brood for hours. And when the last child's heart beat slowed, he wretched the meat from the tiny creatures and dined on it with his troops. It was a disgusting act by the standards of the rest of the Covenant. A disgusting act by the standards of any decent creature. But the Jiralhanae were perverted. Deranged. And two of them were standing not a foot away from Kurr.

"This is a waste of time," snarled the second Jiralhanae. He brought his huge foot down within an inch of Kurr. A gust of air to wash over the Unggoy's face. He shivered.

The first Jiralhanae took one last sniff of the air, before turning and shuffling away. The second followed behind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi everyone. Nothing much to say. Thank you for the reviews. There will be an interaction with the humans in a chapter or two.**

_Chapter 4_

When the brush parted to compensate Commander Zulfar's form, Kurr was beside himself with joy. The Sangheili's white armor was dirtied from dirt and leave and something else. There were splotches of deep dark red on the commander's torso and arms. Blood. The blood of Jiralhanae.

The commander was also now armed with several weapons. Aside from the deactivated energy sword on his belt, he brandished a Brute Cannon and Plasma rifle. Even stranger was the furry creature over his shoulder. It was some sort of game beast, Kurr had seen them once or twice on patrol, before the Jiralhanae betrayal was instigated.

The Unggoy left the thickest foliage so he may be seen. He doubted he could drag the female Sangheili out, and figured she'd be safe where she was.

"Anything happen while I was gone?" Commander Zulfar asked.

"Yes sir," gasped Kurr. "Two Jiralhanae came. And I had to hide with the sub-commander. And sir, SuKahn has been charged with hunting you down."

"You are sure?" Commander Zulfar asked calmly.

"Uh…yes sir. One said SuKahn would have their head if they did not find you."

The commander sighed. He dropped the assorted weapons and the game beast down in order to stack about a dozen dried sticks together. The Sangheili removed a small fire starter from some compartment in his armor, and with a flick of his wrist, lit the wood ablaze. The brightest orange Kurr had ever seen burst forth. Perhaps it was not really so bright, but in the consuming darkness it was beautiful.

"Sir?" he whimpered. "Isn't this bad? The Jiralhanae may be close. They could see this and they'll come and they'll kill us."

"No they won't," Commander Zulfar said sharply. "SuKahn's presence may be a gift of the Forerunners. I attacked a group of the Jiralhanae thirty kliks west of here. I also raided one of our former outposts and set the complex ablaze. SuKahn is a fool. He and his Jiralhanae will work themselves into a frenzy at the thought of battle. They'll search the area I attacked, and when they can't find me they'll search it again. SuKahn will have all his men out, and when nothing pops up to kill, they'll get pissed. Misdirection: one of my favorite tactics."

"If you say so sir."

The Unggoy was cold, and the heat of the dancing blaze felt good.

The commander then went about cutting the game beast into pieces, he stuck the assorted bits of meat into the fire and allowed them to cook. Kurr removed his face mask long enough to smell the roast. It made him hungry for a drink at the teat.

When the meat was done, the commander took it away from the fire and started to eat. Kurr's mouth began to water, but he wasn't sure why.

"You should eat," the commander said. "I need you sharp."

"But sir," stuttered the Unggoy. "We cannot eat meat. We can only eat at the teat. The teat gives us our food."

"And yet you have teeth," countered the commander, taking a large bite from the flank. "You have sharp teeth and yet you eat nothing but liquids."

"Sir…I don't understand."

Commander Zulfar took a fresh piece of the seared meat and offered it to the fearful Unggoy. "Try some."

"Sir, its against the Covenant. It's against what the Prophets teach."

"The Prophets also teach that we Sangheili need execution on sight. So take that Needler you cradle and shoot me between the eyes."

"Sir…But…Sir."

"Try the meat, that's an order."

With a shaking claw, Kurr did as he was told. He removed his breathing mask and nibbled gently at the seared food. It tasted amazing. The drink from the teat was a bland, pasty concoction. But this thing, this meat, had a taste that bathed Kurr's tongue and filled his thoughts.

The Sangheili offered the Unggoy more meat, which he blissfully devoured.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

Morning came too soon for Kurr, who had had an amazing sleep. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he didn't feel the pangs of hunger that occurred not half-a-cycle after a trip to the teat. The meat kept the Unggoy satisfied and content. No wonder the Hierarchs condemned its consumption.

Since the Unggoy rebellion, countless cycles ago, the Covenant had made a policy of treated the five foot tall creatures as poorly as they could. They were sent first into battle and were last to be evacuated. They were the bottom of the Hierarch, the lowest of the low. They were even given the bland tasting milk from the teat, the bland concoction that must some how instill submission into those that drink it. All this was done to deter another rebellion.

The belief was simple enough: give one nothing, and one becomes nothing. Grant the Unggoy nothing to hope for, nothing to strive for, and they would become the cannon fodder they were expected to be. Break them with the least effort.

The thoughts that swam inside Kurr's head made him cringe. They were heresy, and he could be killed just for thinking them. But how had these thoughts come about? Did the taste of meat unlock some long dormant thoughts, or the memories of his ancestors? Or perhaps the radical beliefs of Commander Zulfar had finally begun to rub off on him. Either way, it made Kurr feel strange. Not a bad strange. Good strange.

Kurr slowly rose to his feet and stretched his stubby arms. When he spied the commander, he saluted and said, "Sir."

"Have a good rest?" the Sangheili asked.

It was such a casual question, Kurr had no immediate response. He wondered if the commander had always been the maverick he was now. The Sangheili had been known to criticize his superiors from time to time, perhaps even refuse an order, but what Kurr had seen the past few days was heresy. So what did that make the genocide of Jiralhanae, the one that was authorized by the Hierarchs. Right and proper?

These were thoughts for another time. Kurr had been asked a question by a superior, and had been taught to answer since birth. Old habits, and old fears, died hard.

"Yes sir," was his response. "I slept well."

Without warning, Commander Zulfar drew his energy sword and leapt into the forest, letting out a throaty roar of battle. Next, there was a frightened scream, and the limp body of a human came flying into clearing with motions reminiscent of a toy doll.

Kurr dove for the thickest underbrush purely by instinct. To obtain cover was to, perhaps, live another precious day. To stand in the open was to fall dead. And even though the Hierarchs tried for countless cycles to break that will to live, they could not, not in all the Unggoy.

The humans, dressed in their body armor, came forth, firing, cursing in their strange tongue. Marines, Kurr believed they were called, and he counted twelve of them. Twelve battle rifles against his tiny Needler. But there concern wasn't with Kurr. They walked into the clearing and fired at the commander who amazingly dove into the center of the fray. He moved so fast, too fast for Kurr to follow, but he did hear the sizzle of blood on the energy blade. Quivering chunks of man sprinkled over field.

Numbers proved Commander Zulfar's undoing. Kurr lost count of the number of humans as they poured forward, the screams of battle rifles was deafening. Bullets punched their way through the commander's armor. A sheen of blood covered his dirty white armor. A shot to his sword arm and he dropped his weapon. Another shot to his knee cap knocked him down. And Kurr remembered wanting nothing more than to be strong and rush out into the field and save the Commander. Instead he was weak, and stayed huddle in the brush.

Distinguishing humans was difficult for Kurr. To him, they all looked alike. This wasn't helped that they covered most of their body in battle armor. Kurr knew the one that walked forward was female by her smaller stature and shapely chest. A similar differences applied to the Sangheili women and men.

It was a human woman who drew her pistol and shot Commander Zulfar in the head at a distance of ten feet.

Kurr didn't move for a long time, long after the commander was dragged off by the remaining humans. At last, he crawled forward and inspected the dead soldiers. Weapons! Rations! He brought all he could carry into the foliage where the sub-commander still lay. He would wait until she regained conciousness. Then, he decided, he would make the human pay for killing the commander.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

The four soldiers, though still carrying side arms and assault rifles slung over their shoulder, were armed with military style batons. Alexander Lucien spun it in his dexterous fingers, his eyes focused on one of his fellow soldiers. "You ready for this?"

"Yeah," the others grunted in approximate unison.

They entered the prison, Lucien still spinning his baton with a blatant lack of interest. His free hand undid the lock of the cell and the four soldiers entered. They didn't say anything, they all simply began beating their captive down, not bothering to release Commander Zardock Zulfar, he was kept firmly in chains. When the soldiers were satisfied the Elite wouldn't show any resistance, they unshackled him from the wall and began to drag him away.

Corporal Nicole Nichols carried herself with an air of dominance, even as she entered the interrogation cell. The Elite prisoner was almost two and half feet taller, with an infinitely larger build. Even stripped of his white armor and weapons, he was her superior in every way. Nicole grinned evilly. Yet he was the one in chains.

The corporal sat down and put her feet on the table that separated her from the Elite. Removing her gloves, and drawing a small knife from her belt, she began to clean her nails. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Corporal Nicole Nichols of the United Nations Space Command. And judging by the armor you were wearing when we captured you, you are a Special Operations Commander of the Covenant. That is quite an accomplishment, to receive such a rank. Course, I supposed a bullet to the head will put anyone down, no matter what rank they are. You're lucky your helmet absorbed most of the damage. Its what I get for carrying a .22."

The alien said nothing shuffled a moment, perhaps testing the strength of his bindings. His arms were bound behind his back with heavy chains, strong enough to restrain an enraged elephant. Without his armor, he wore nothing more than the all-over gray-green, skin-tight body suit. The exact material it was constructed of was unknown, but analysis showed it to be bulletproof. It would have been confistacted as well, but Nicole couldn't have the Elite naked before her.

"I know you can understand me. There's no point in playing dumb. The only thing keeping you alive right now, is my patience, which is wearing thin."

The Elite continued to stay quiet. Its beady black eyes constantly shifted from one side of the room to the other, as if it was searching for some way to escape its confines. Of course, he found none. Nicole had made sure of that.

"I think you should know, that by my order, I could have you tortured: every portruding limb would be cut off, your mandible ripped from their sockets. But we've tried that already with past prisoners. The Grunts succumb easy enough, usually we just have to threaten them and they'll tell us whatever we want. Not that they ever know anything. The Jackals are usually the same way, cowardly little bastards. We've never been able to take a Hunter or Brute alive, so I don't know how loyal they'd stay to your ideals.

"When we try it with you Elites, you just don't give in. Even after you see all those pieces of yourselves, you're stone. Its something to be admired really."

"What do you want me to say?" the Elite asked. His voice was deep and gruff and sent a shiver up Nicole's spine. She cursed herself for showing fear before her prisoner.

"You're alive, only by my order. Most of the soldiers at this base would have you and yours hung by your entrails and paraded through the base. But in the end it is my decesion, as I am the commanding officer. I think you're useful. You could show a little gratitude."

"Why? You keep me alive not out of the goodness of your heart, but because you believe I am useful. Therefore, I owe you no gratitude."

It was still amazing to see an Elite speak with such fluid english, his words so perfectly formed.

"You shall get nothing from me," the Elite grumbled.

"Not tonight at least." The colonel rose from her seat and went to leave the room. "The guards will escort you to your cell shortly. We will talk more tommorow."

Coporal Nicole Nichols slipped out the door and proceeded down the hallway to her private quarters. There, she contacted her superior officer: Gunnery Sergeant David Allan. His bearded face appeared on the hologram.

"Sir," she said saluting.

"At ease," was the hologram's response. "Have the defenses held?"

"Yes sir. The Covenant have yet to discover our base. Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"Sir, we've observed some internal fighting with the Covenant here. The lines appear to be drawn between the Brutes, Jackals, and Drones and the Elites, Grunts and Hunters. Its almost like they've forgotten about us."

"Yes," nodded the Gunnery Sergeant. "This has been occuring through out the universe."

"The Elites seem to be on the run in this civil war. In twenty four hours, we've been able to capture at least two dozen. With your permission, rather than executing them, I would like to keep them for interogation purposes."

"Denied," was her superior's quick response.

It took Nicole a moment to let the shock settle. She finally said, "With all respect sir, this is a prime oppurtunity. Think of what we could learn."

"And think if this is a trap, colonel. Put nothing past the enemy, no deception is too dispicable, no crime too ungodly. The more Elites you put in the same place, the more dangerous they become. Execute them as you aquire them soldier."

"Understood sir," she saluted, before the holgram disappeared with a flash. And when the light had faded and she was sure the communication was cut, she said aloud, "Fuck you."

**Thank you for the reviews everyone. To answer you're question, Fat Dude, I was originally going to have the commander not kill any humans. I decided that didn't seem realilistic though. The treaty hasn't been established yet in the Halo universe. The second game didn't end with an actual treaty, only the Arbiter and his squad decided not to kill the humans so that they could together kill the Brutes.**

**The bottom line is the commander is still at war. He was protecting two of his comrades when a squad of marines came. The marines would have killed him, given the chance. Nicole tried.**

**Again everyone, thank you for the reviews.**


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_

Zardock's body ached. Sleep deprivation laced with consistent beatings and a starvation diet was beginning to take a toll on him. Today would be the day, he decided. It had to be. He wouldn't survive much longer. He didn't know if Kurr or Shara or anybody else were still alive, but the longer he remained debilitated, the more harm they fell into. It would have to be today.

The door slide open, and the human colonel named Nicole walked in. At least, Zardock thought it was her. Humans all looked alike to him. It didn't help they all wore similar body armor, nor that the vision in his eye was still blurred from the gunshot wound suffered a week ago. But the subtle curve of her chest marked her as a female. And since there were so few females at the base, he made the assumption this was his usual interrogator.

"Good morning commander. Did you sleep alright?" she mocked, taking a seat across the table. "Feel like talking today, or should we continue with our usual routine?" Drawing a small knife and removing her gloves, she began to clean her nails. It was a strange act, one this human did most constantly. He guessed it was more of a nervous habit than necessity of cleanliness.

She was brilliant with that knife. Her preferred method of torture was to drag the sharp edge along the commander's skin, applying pressure ever so slowly, until the skin was cut. It was a small amount of damage, virtually painless when done singularly. It was a method of interrogation that favored volume over a single large amputation. One scratch was nothing. A thousand, all over his body, was agonizing. What few precious moments of sleep Zardock had managed to steal away were fitful, laden with an inescapable sensation of burning on his skin.

The commander said, in his deep strained voice, "You're all going to die here."

"What?" Nicole asked, amused.

"Perhaps we could have formed a truce, but I realize know you creatures are just as cruel and sadistic as the Jiralhanae. You are brave. You throw yourselves at us in the interest of protecting your comrades. But you are too vicious to ally with us."

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"You should be flattered really. Your bases are so well hidden, I don't even know where we are now. But the Jiralhanae will be here soon."

"What are you talking about?" she repeated.

"You were a fool to leave me my suit," he said with a sly voice.

"Stop talking in riddles?" she growled.

"You are smart, human. You took my weapon and my armor, but I am smarter. There is a tracking device my skin suit. I deactivated it when I was running from the Jiralhanae, but I thought it wise to reactivate it now that I am your prisoner."

Nicole was furious. That was good. She'd do something stupid next. And sure enough, she slammed her small knife down onto the table. Excellent, Zardock would have smiled if he didn't wish to risk tipping the human fool off.

"You've killed yourself," she accused. "We die, you die. The Brutes will kill everyone here."

"Perhaps," Zardock shrugged nonchalantly. "I'd of been executed down the line. This way, we take you with us. If Shara is still alive, she may have a chance."

"You're all dead," she growled. "I'll see to that."

She was upon him in a moment. Her fingers tightly embraced the small knife, and with a blur of glinting steel, she crammed it into area of his cheek where his mandibles met. He spat a wad of blood, but he continued to laugh. "You're dead," she warned.

"Captain," Nicole breathed as she ran to Michael Coffey. Tall, well-muscled, with dark brown skin and a cleanly shaven head, he stood as the archetype of a good soldier.

"What is it Corporal?" he asked.

"We need to fortify the base," she breathed. "The Brutes are going to attack."

"Corporal, Nicole, calm down. What's happening?"

"I was interrogating the prisoner, the Spec Ops Elite. There's a tracking device in his skin suit. The Brutes are coming, this has all been a trap."

"Nicole, we've analyzed the skin suits the Elites wear. Nothing is show about a tracking device. Nothing is even metal. Its all just a tightly woven fabric, like Kevlar."

She stopped for a moment, his words taking a long time to reach the part of her brain that could comprehend what had happened. "Oh god," she realized, and in an instant she was running back to the cell. Her lungs burned, she nearly slipped on the hallway floor once or twice and broke her neck, but she continued moving. She burst into the cell, crashed into it; her sidearm was drawn and ready to execute the prisoner. But the cell was empty. Only the knife she had used to clean her nails was left, lying mockingly on the table in a pool of purple blood.

"Nicole, what's going in?" asked Coffey.

"Oh god," she whimpered. "He's escaped."


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

Droplets of blood marked the commander's trail, like bread crumbs do children in fairy tales. He had to move fast. Any fool could follow such a blatant trail, and there was much to do.

"A Prophet turns to an Unggoy, hands him a Needler, and orders him to go into the room and kill his mother. Unggoy looks up at his hierarch and cries 'I can't do it.' Prophet turns to a Lekgolo, hands her the Needler, and orders her to go into the room and kill her life partner. Lekgolo goes into the room, but comes out, saying she can't do it over and over again. Finally the Prophet turns to a Jiralhanae, hands him the Needler, and orders him to go into the room and kill his own brother. The Jiralhanae strolls into the room. The Prophet hears half a dozen shots, then a loud scream. Jiralhanae comes out and the Prophet asks 'What happened?' The Jiralhanae says 'The Needler was filled with blanks, so I beat him to death sir.'"

Zardock chuckled bitterly, but a feeling of dizziness overcame him, and he braced himself against a wall. Laughter pounded the gash on his cheek, blood smearing and pumping out. He'd have to do something about the wound. He was leaving a trail of purple, tar smelling blood that even an idiot could follow. He had to move fast.

"My father taught me to fight, I guess that's how it works. The generation who survives teaches the generation who will be sent off to die. If not for my father, I'd probably of died along time ago against the human, or the Jiralhanae, and I'd of been sent to war by the Hierarchs with or without my father's consent. So, it's not my father's fault?"

As if struck by revelation, Zardock looked around the cramp confines of the hallway. "Who am I talking to?" he wondered. He shook his head and cleared his thoughts. Dementia, blood loss, a near complete lack of sleep. Maybe a concussion from the gunshot wound a week ago. He was beginning to degenerate. It was harder to focus. Talking helped though. It kept him thinking. It kept his mind off the pain.

"I have to rescue the others. The human mentioned she had more Sangheili. I can't abandon them. The human will put guards at them assuming I will attempt to rescue them, if only for reinforcements. I need a diversion that will not put my men in danger. The Jiralhanae would make a good diversion. The communications room. I have to save my men."

He noticed footsteps approaching from down the hallway, and immediately pushed himself to the wall. The footsteps came closer, the pitter patter of footsteps grew louder. In a moment, two human soldiers turned the corner. Zardock took both by the skull in a hand each, and smashed them together. The bone yielded, and blood dribbled out into the human's scalp. Zardock took the moment to catch his breath.

Finding the communication room was difficult in its own right. The hallways stretched and twisted into infinity. It would be impossible to arrive anywhere specific. And his blood lose was urging. He slipped into the next open door so he may take a moment to gather his thoughts.

He was granted enough time to drop the two human corpses to the ground before his legs nearly buckled beneath him. It was only by grabbing a nearby wall that he was able to keep from falling.

"Where am I?" Zardock asked, looking around. "Personal quarters, the bed and lavatory. The quarters of a high ranking soldier at this base. But where is the communications room?"

Before the answer could strike him, the door to the quarters slipped open with a creak, and a human walked in. Her attention was not on the area before her. Rather, she seemed preoccupied with the floor, and she was muttering profanities gently under her breath. The moment the door behind her closed, Zardock was upon her.

Even without his energy sword or a projectile, a Sangheili was more than capable of fighting hand-to-hand. War was a large part of their culture, and so they were trained to compete in every aspect. In an instance, Zardock wrapped his fingers around the humans throat and he lifted her off the ground so her feet dangled helplessly beneath her. The anger inside of him could have snapped her neck with a flick of his wrist. But he swallowed the boiling down. His men came first.

"Where is the communication's room?" he demanded, slacking his grip just enough to allow her to talk.

"Fuck you, squid-face," she muttered.

A week's worth of anger boiled inside of him as he recognized the voice. "What was it you said? You would cut off every portruding limb, rip my mandible from their sockets? Trust me, I am more than willing to do it to you. If I had the time, I would break every bone in your body. I would crush and break you apart. But I need the communications room. You are going to die, but tell me where it is and it will be quick."

"Fuck you," she spat

Zardock smiled. Or at least that's what he appeared to do. Nicole was as competant in reading an alien's body langue as an alien was at reading her's. "Brave. But foolish." For he took her left arm and casually twisted it at the shoulder. But he didn't stop, he continued to twist it, rip it and wrestle it from the socket. Then he began to pull, placing a hoof on her back to increase the leverage as he ripped it away from her body.

"Talk!" he roared.

"The north building," she cried. "The communcations center is there."

"North?" he asked. "Well it's a start."

His hoofed foot fell upon Nicole's head. Leaning his weight fully upon her, her head quickly yeilded between the floor and the hoof. A red stain spread out from beneath Zardock's foot.

---

The preservation of the Covenant was all that mattered. No life was more important, no duty higher. Such all were taught. The words were drilled into their brains until they believed it. But it wasn't this belief that allowed SuKahn to kill so mercilessly. He simply enjoyed killing. He loved the recoil that ran up his arm with each blast of his Brute Shot. He loved the smell of human blood and the taste of human meat. He loved the sound of tanks rolling over corpses, the bodies popping wetly under treads the moment the weight grew too extreme. He loved the eruption of the heavy artillery. He loved the soldiers engulfed by flame.

And once the remained Sangheili were found, they too would meet their end. In particular, he would see that Commander Zardock met a fate befitting the most vial of traitors.

"Cheiftan," one of the lower ranked Jiralhanae said. Cheiftan was a title bestowed onto Sukahn by the High Cheiftan Tartarus. It was granted after a particularly devastating slaughter, in which SuKahn marched at least a hundred humans into an air lock, then released them into the cold embrace of space.

"Incoming transmition, it's a human frequency."

"Let it through," SuKahn grunted.

The Jiralhanae typed on the computer. Soon enough, a voice sounded over the speakers. Who it belonged to, SuKahn wasn't sure, as it was heavily distorted by static. The human's communicating technology was horribly inferior.

"I am inside the human base," said the voice over the speakers. "Send reinforces immediately. I will leave this channel open so you may trace it to my location. May the Forerunners watch us all."

It took a moment for the words to reach SuKahn's brain, but immediately, he gave his orders. "Trace that signal," he roared. "Arm every soldier, we go within the cycle."

SuKahn's bloodlust was too great, his delusions of grandeur and invincibility to blinding, for the thought of a trap never occurred to him, and his underlings were too scared of him to question the order.


	9. Chapter 9

**The amount of violence in the story has offered me many reviews. I do have to warn you, if you are squeamish, you may want to consider stop reading right now. As they say, the worst is yet to come.**

_Chapter 9_

Commander Zulfar had slain the two guard quickly, pulped their skulls so they wouldn't raise an alarm, but his haste was rewarded with a dizzying paralysis that lasted for nearly a minute. When he was sure he wouldn't collapse, he sent the messages to the Jiralhanae.

There was one more thing to take care of. Zardock inputted a new frequency into the computer, the frequency of the radio in Sub-commander Shara's armor. "This is Commander Zulfar, does anyone copy."

He didn't know how much time had passed, probably only a few moments as his voice stretched out to find a receiver, but it felt like an eternity. He wasn't sure if it was anticipation or another symptom of the concussion. At last, a roughly feminine voice responded; "This is Sub-commander Shara, I copy."

"Sindal," he gasped. "Thank the Forerunners."

"Zardock? We thought you were dead."

"I may be by tonight," he admitted. "Sindal. I am in the human base. Trace this signal. I have already contacted the Jiralhanae. They should attack, and I will be able to escape in the confusion of the ensuing battle. Is anyone else with you?"

"Yes, we met with Furno and three of his team, as well as a pair of Lekgolo and a squad of Unggoy."

"You are all to come to this location, but do not engage in the battle until I rendezvous with you. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir. May the Forerunners watch over you."

"And with you," Zulfar said, before taking a long breathe. SuKahn would arrive with in the cycle. Shara would come soon after. "May my blade be sharp. May the Forerunners guide my hand. I need the armory. I need my armor back. And the other Sangheili. Then we escape."

---

The events that happened next were like clockwork.

The Covenant's forces began arriving by first light of the morning. Infantry unloaded out of Spirits and Phantoms first: Brutes and Jackals, armed and armored and eager to begin the slaughter. There were thousands of them, maybe millions: a sea of rabid aliens. Then came the vehicles staying just out of range of the human's guns. The small ones at first: Ghost and Specters to provide the infantry with support. Finally the ground rumbled, and at least twenty Wraiths came roaring forth.

"Why don't they just attack?" Jordan Sampson asked.

"Why should they?" was Alexander Lucien's response. " Psychology is half the battle. They have numbers, they have firepower, they have every advantage. They're goanna drag this out as long as possible." Lucien took a puff of his cigarette as he adjusted the scope of his rifle. "Christ, I'd be great to cap one of them."

"Captain Coffey will have your head before the Brutes do," Sampson warned. "Remember, about a year ago, we found that Covenant ship just drifting in space. The engines had been damaged and they were just floating around, waiting for a rescue."

"How could I forget?" Lucien asked without a trace of remorse.

"I'm kinda thinking that this is, like, God's way of punishing us, you know? I mean we're goanna be slaughtered. There's no way we can call in any back up and there no way we'll last more than a few minutes. We're fucked, you know."

"And you think this is the work of some higher power? Punishing us because we blew up a ship? No, this is the doing of the Covenant. And if I'm goanna die, I'm goanna take as many of those fuckers down with me as I can."

"You and me both," Sampson breathed. "Do you want to die?"

"Course not."

"My father used to say, any day worth living is a day worth fighting for. So lets fight and lets live. Last one to kill a bad guy buys the beer."

The two shared a bitter chuckle as they both looked through the scopes of their rifles. That's how they would wait for the end.

---

The ground shook so forcefully, Rebecca stumbled off her feet. Another eruption. The glass beakers and jars that filled the infirmary shattered on the ground. "Get the sick and wounded out of here," she ordered, before taking up her rifle and rushing out of the room.

No amount of training prepared a soldier for war. Not the ship to ship combat that dominated intergalactic combat, or the impersonal bombings that the Covenant enjoyed so much. Nothing prepared a soldier for trench warfare: fighting so close you could see you fear in the victim's eyes even as the bullets ripped away their life. Fighting so close you could reach out and touch the furry hide of the Brutes or slimy skin of the Jackals.

Rebecca had been taught to use a knife by Captain Castlion in basic training. She had silently mocked him, wondering what was the use in knowing how to fight with such a weapon. How wrong could she been, she thought, as she drove the glistening steel into a Jackal's throat. It gave out an avian like cry and wet cough as its blood trickled down into its lungs. She pulled her knife free and allowed the body to slump.

Her Battle Rifle worked fine enough. Indeed, the first thing she'd done is taken a position at the outer wall with all the other soldiers. She held the trigger down and sprayed into the advancing infantry. The muzzle flashed. Ejected cases glittered in the sun as they spiraled down to the ground. Bullets met walls of flesh but the Covenant kept charging forth.

There was no strategy. Rebecca had heard stories about warfare with the Elites. Though ruthless, the aliens did at least show guile and cunning in their attacks. Assaults were said to come in waves, so that each time the Elite general could determine their opponent's remaining strength. A soldier was at least given a chance to breathe between fending off the aliens. The Brutes commanded no ideals such as tactic. There was one single attack, one endless battering crash of screams and gunshots. The Brutes clawed at the walls and climbed upon their dead.

Rebecca convinced herself it was not cowardice that drove her to flee the main wall. The Brutes had broken through the defenses and were now charging in, slaughtering any in their path. Rebecca had no choice, to stay and die would solve nothing. She retreated deeper into the base. Screams and cries followed at her heels. Screams and cries of her fellow soldiers who continued to hold their posts despite the sea of monsters that plowed through them. She could almost feel the hot breathe of the Brutes on the back of her neck.

Fearful Rebecca turned to her blind side and fired off a flurry. She didn't aim. She just shot in a terrified frenzy.

Because her attention was on her blind side, she didn't see the Brute that had somehow found its way to her front. Both barrels of a twelve-gauge shotgun, fired from point blank range into her chest. Brutes always did like loud powerful guns, subtly or accuracy be damned.

Rebecca's motion as she flew backwards was reminiscent of a rag doll: limbs flailing helplessly until the ground came upon her. She broke against it, her head cracked against the floor and she felt blood drench her scalp. Her battle rifle spun out of her grip.

Her vision, as well as her mind, was hazy, but she had enough recognition to know that there was a squeezing pressure on her chest, and that she wasn't on the ground as her feet kicked helplessly. Though it was difficult, she opened her eyes enough to see an ocean of white fur before her. "No," she whimpered. She tried to struggle, tried to claw her way free, but the Brute merely threw her over its broad shoulders. Her breathe tore out of her lungs, and when she tried to suck air back in, she was met with the foul odor of the Brute's fur. She feel out of the light and into an all consuming darkness.

She woke in a cage, roughly five feet by five feet, and just tall enough for her to pace as long as she stayed hunched over. That was all she could do. Pace. Wait. Stare at nothing for hours on end. Pray. Think. Plot her escape. So far she hadn't come up with too many good ideas. Pray. Think. Pray more. She hadn't prayed for decades, but she hadn't forgotten how.

For the umpteenth time, Rebecca took a firm grip of the bars and pulled. She struggled. She strained. She summoned every ounce of strength she could muster, but it was all for nothing. In despair, she dropped to the ground and put her head down. Of course she couldn't escape by strength. She'd tried that when the Brute first locked her away in the cage, and it hadn't worked. A week had passed. Her body had grown skinny and malnourished; she was fed scrapes only sporadically.

The heavy door of the room she was held in swung open to allow the albino Brute to shuffle heavily into the room. It trampled about, setting its weapons down and removing its armor, never once taking notice of the captive in the cage until she began to speak.

"You can understand me?" she demanded.

The Brutes beady red eyes focused on Rebecca, who felt a cold touch at the small of her back. It turned its attention back to inspecting its cannon sized side arm.

"You _can_ understand me," she screamed. "Why don't you just kill me? Just kill me, please."

A feeling of hunger induced weakness knocked Rebecca down. She wished an Elite had captured her, they would at least have the decency to interrogate and execute. She thought back to all those Elites they had kept in base. All the Elites that the corporal had ordered to be let live so they could be properly tortured.

The best torture was affective and simple. She'd never thought to leave a prisoner in a cage and go about her daily life, to allow one to see the world pass by and for one to know they could not take part in it. "What are you planning?"

"To make you suffer." It was the first thing Rebecca had heard the Brute say, save when it barked orders to its subordinates.

"Why?" she demanded, banging on the cage's bars. "What did we ever do to you? Why do you do this? Why do you kill and destroy and conquer and kill?"

"Its fun," the Brute grunted. He took the heavy steps towards the cage. Rebecca backed as far as she could out of fear. "Its fun to kill and destroy and maim." He picked up the cage with one huge hand and began to violently shake it. Rebecca smashed against the indifferent bars. Flesh and bone broke against metal. The cruelty continued for several minutes, before the Brute threw the cage against the farthest wall.

"See," he laughed. "That was fun. Besides, I wouldn't want the meat to spoil."

There wasn't a part of Rebecca that didn't hurt. She imagined more than one of her ribs were broken, jagged bone stabbed at her inside belly every time she took a breath. She'd landed on her arm once or twice, it crunched noisily beneath her and now lay limp at her side. Her vision doubled. A concussion perhaps. Internal bleeding seemed likely.

The Brute shut off the lights and lay down. Loud, weighted snoring filled the room. Clutching her sides in pain, Rebecca silently promised she would see the death of the Brute.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10_

A moment or an eternity passed in the cold consuming darkness.

Rebecca was awakened by the mechanical whirr of the door. Somehow, she had managed to fall asleep despite the pain it took to breath, despite the thunderous snoring of the albino Brute, despite a million other factors that would have driven a normal person into the depths of insanity.

Her eyes struggled to focus in the darkness but to no avail. It was simply impossible to see through the pitch blackness of the quarters. When that failed, she struggled to hear something, anything, over the Brute's obnoxious sounds.

Illumination was granted when an energy sword ignited. A shapeless creatures leapt through the darkness Through the black, the blade swung down and into the Brute's chest leaving a residual trace of glow in the air. A torrent of blood lurched upwards, only to be claimed by gravity and spill to the floor.

For a long moment, the only sound was the sizzle of blood on the blade. The Brute rumbled, his hands spasm and his legs kicked, but it must have been a reflex, as what creature could survive such evisceration. At last his heavy body heaved and fell still. The shape pulled the blade out and swung, cleaving the Brute's head from its shoulders. The head lopped along the ground, finally coming to rest a few steps away.

The room's lights hummed to activity. The shapeless form of bent light slowly materialized into an Elite, clad in white armor, though a side of his helmet seemed to be damaged. Only momentarily surprised by the huddle of humanity in the cage, the Elite casually waltzed over and lowered to his haunches, holstering the extinguished energy blade onto his belt.

"Kill me," Rebecca begged.

The Elite ignited his blade and swung, neatly slicing the front of the cage away. With his free hand, he clicked the communicator on his breastplate. "Captain," he said in a deep rumble. "I've found a survivor. Are the charges in place?"

"Yes commander." Even through the static, Rebecca recognized the voice. She knew it was fake. That voice couldn't belong to the Captain Coffey. No, it just couldn't.

The Elite reached into the cage, Rebecca didn't have the strength to fight back.

"Are you hurt?" the elite asked.

Rebecca pushed out of the hold. But without support, she crumpled to the ground. The Elite again picked her up, cradling her in his arms, tight enough that she couldn't escape. He held her frail body with one arm and carried her out of the room. Half a dozen more Elites were in the hallway waiting to greet her. The disembodied corpses of Brutes were strewn about the ground, their blood covered the walls and formed a pool on the floor that stretched down the hallway. The smell of rotting death was revolting. Once again, Rebecca passed out.

She awoke a long time later in what she assumed was a hospital ward, as a white curtain offered her a make shift room, and her tattered rags had been replaced by a paer gown. Over several minutes she became more aware, and realized how badly she hurt. How she wanted to return to the sweet embrace of a drugged sleep. Her broken arm was in a cast, which she had trouble lifting up. Her chest was thoroughly taped.

"Coffey?" she asked, her vision sharpening on the withered old features of the captain. "The Elites. They had me."

He was quiet a long time, his fingers laced like the steeple in the old children's rhyme. Finally, he said, "You've missed a lot."

---

The swords clashed like thunder as a powerful swipe was parried with expert precision. Zardock sneered. "This is pathetic. I am not a low level grunt. Stop holding back."

Gripping her twin blades tightly, Sindal loosened a guttural roar from her throat before charging forward. She swung her arms together in an attempt to scissor her foe in half. Zardock easily parried the assault with his single blade before smashing his elbow into Sindal's jaw. A kick swept her legs out from under her, and she landed hard on her back.

"Pathetic," Zardock muttered as he lifted his blade above his head, intending to drive it down. Sindal blocked by bringing her twin blades together. The sub-commander smashed both hoofed feet into Zardock's chest, kicking him backward. Quickly mounting him, Sindal drove both blades down.

The energy swords hummed at either side of Zardock's head. "You're dead," the sub-commander grunted.

"It took you too long," the commander observed. "You are far better with your blades then I am, far better than any I have ever seen. You should be able to "kill" me with in moments. Is something on you're mind?"

"Zardock. I don't like this treaty with the humans. I don't trust them."

"Nor do I. But it is a necessity. We haven't had any communication with the others. The humans _claim_ they can't contact their comrades either. For now, we are united by the common threat of the Jiralhanae."

"The dark skinned one, the one who you made the treaty with. He asked me to show him how to use our weapons. Do you understand what that means? Every weapon we give them, every tactic we show them, they can use against us. They will want our camouflage next, and our sacred blades."

"I know Sindal," the commander admitted. "But for now we have no choice. There are more Jiralhanae than Sangheili and humans combined. We have blown up only one of their bases. SuKahn is dead. Another will take his place. We can not survive alone."

"But can we survive with the humans? Even if we defeat the Jiralhanae, do you believe the humans will simply lower their weaponns when our back is turned? We have been in a war with them. They have killed us. We have killed them. Do you think they will forget that? Do you think I have forgotten what they did to me?"

"Sindal," he began, but said nothing further.

"You did the right think, Zardock," the sub-commander said with comforting sincerity. "I just pray that our people show up first."

**That's all folks. Its been fun writing this, and i hope its been fun reading it too. Thank you everyone who left a review. And no thanks to all you freeloading bastards who couldn't say "Good job Wolf." (Just kidding). I won't write a sequal to this i'm afraid, because i feel that everything that needed to be said has been said and the rest of the story will unfold in Halo 3. My next work will be a Star Wars fic: "Masks" and after that "Aggresive Diplomacy." Again, thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed.**


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